Other Shepards by Adele Griffin

interested in the environment lately.”
    “Fruit is biodegradable,” she says. “Get the facts.”
    I clench my hands, I want to pull out her hair so badly. It is too much, sometimes, always being the older one, the unpaid baby-sitter and nursemaid for a thankless little sister.
    We keep silent until we turn onto our street. Geneva picks up speed, her purposeful walk turning into a brisk skip, and her throat catches in a small, pleased sound. I look at her, mystified by the smile that transfixes her face, then the jackrabbiting bounds that carry her through the home stretch to our front door. I don’t understand what could get her so animated.
    And then, at once, I do.

five
geneva and annie
    “G IRLS!” WE STOP AT the echo of her voice, a hollow boomerang down the walled alley. Annie’s hair blows sideways across her face in a tangled puff as she leans dangerously far out the kitchen window. “What brings you two out of school?”
    “We knew you’d be here!” Geneva runs around to the front of the house and jets inside the front door. I follow her into the kitchen. Annie already is pulling down the coffee mugs. “Who’s sick?” she asks. “Neither of you looks it.”
    “We’re having a hooky day,” Geneva gloats.
    “Everybody needs one sometime,” Annie says, her smile untroubled, although I can’t imagine what she must think of my delinquent sister.
    “You’re supposed to have a stomachache,” I reprimand her. “Otherwise I’m calling Mom.” I look at Annie. “Maybe I should phone her anyway,” I say. “Since you’re here, would you mind keeping an eye on Geneva while I go back to school?” My question is matter-of-fact, but my body does not make any effort to move me to the phone in the front hall.
    “If she doesn’t mind helping me,” Annie says. Geneva has already kicked off her shoes and is paging through the art books. “Coffee before you set out again, weary traveler?” Annie’s eyes are two gentle lights shining over her mug. I notice that her makeup is more smeared than yesterday, she wears the same strappy shoes and linen blazer, and the messy knot of her hair is lopsided, as if she might have spent last night sleeping on a park bench. She smells nice, though, like crayons or chalk.
    “A little mess is legal as long as there’s no evidence of dirt,” Mom once said to me in a conversation about straightening up my bedroom. That is Annie today. Messy not dirty.
    She pours out a mug, which I accept. I had not felt weary until she used the word; maybe the coffee will pep me up. Except that Annie’s blend seems to work an opposite effect—its smell and taste are mellow, and thoughts of returning to school begin to tumble away from me.
    “I was planning to go downtown after I finished priming,” Annie tells us. “If you girls want to join me, I’d be glad for the company.”
    “We aren’t allowed to wander around the city without permission,” I explain in as polite a voice as I know. Geneva gives me a black look.
    “I’m supervising, remember, so I grant permission,” Annie says. “I grew up in this city, and I was queen of the baby-sitters here for years. It was how I made all my clothes money. My mom hated my taste in clothes. She wanted to dress me like a doll, I guess since I was her only girl, but I wanted cool stuff like velour pants and satin ice-skate skirts, and my mom refused to buy it. She would say things like, ‘Clothing that disintegrates in two weeks’ time isn’t worth the hanger it’s hung on.’”
    I smile and nod; it sounds just like something Mom would say.
    “Our mom never buys us velour or satin anything,” Geneva says admiringly. “Even if it’s on a one-day, seventy-five-percent-off sale at Macy’s.”
    “You’ll find any costume you want at the thrift stores.”
    “But today is a school day,” I say. “Maybe we shouldn’t go downtown, where everyone can see us not being in school.”
    “Believe me, no one will care, as long